The UIC Art History department had a small gathering for Peter this afternoon. I said a few words, and because I know how important it’s been to me over this past week to read others’ memories of Peter, I’m sharing those words here:*

I met Peter in the fall of ‘98. It was my first semester of grad school (the first time around), and he was teaching 510. I’d already heard about Peter, through Hannah, when I’d visited campus the year before. She told me, within fifteen minutes of meeting me, I’d adore him, and she was right.

I’ve thought a lot about what I would say today, whether or not I ought to write it down—and I figured, to be safe, I would—and the more I thought about what to say and all the different, wonderful, ridiculous, beautiful memories I have of Peter, the more I could hear him to say to me, just like he did that semester in 510, “Come on, Cass, you don’t have to worry about this. You’re never going to say it all, so just be okay with saying some of it, and trust that the rest will come later when it needs to. For now, just tell us one thing, one thing that matters. And tell us why.”

And I knew that Peter was right. More than that, I knew, for those of us who were his students, that that’s what mattered. Peter never expected or wanted us to get it all; what he wanted for us, what he expected of us, was for us to keep asking, and for us to tell him—and, more importantly, to tell one another—why it mattered, whatever it was.

And if it mattered to us, it mattered to Peter. Peter invested himself in us, and he was the best cheerleader in the world. During that semester in 510, and again and again after that, I managed to earn and sustain a certain reputation in Peter’s eyes as an iconoclast, a rebel—something he knew a thing or two about—and I was always willing to challenge the canon, often sophomorically so, I’m sure, but never without spirit and enthusiasm and conviction. And I was able to do that, so fearlessly, because Peter modeled for me, for all of us, how to do that. Peter dug himself in, and he encouraged us to do that. That is, Peter gave us courage—our own, and his—to question, to challenge, and to trust ourselves…and to trust that the rest would follow when it needs to.

*I am greatly honored to call Peter my teacher, my mentor, and my friend. I miss him tremendously.*

 The UIC Art History department had a small gathering in honor of Peter this afternoon.  I said a few words, and because I know how important it’s been to me over this past week to read others’ memories of Peter, I’m sharing those words here:

 I met Peter in the fall of ‘98.  It was my first semester of grad school (the first time around), and he was teaching 510.  I’d already heard about Peter, through Hannah, when I’d visited campus the year before.  She told me, within fifteen minutes of meeting me, I’d adore him, and she was right.  

 I’ve thought a lot about what I would say today, whether or not I ought to write it down—and I figured, to be safe, I would—and the more I thought about what to say and all the different, wonderful, ridiculous, beautiful memories I have of Peter, the more I could hear him to say to me, just like he did that semester in 510, “Come on, Cass, you don’t have to worry about this.  You’re never going to say it all, so just be okay with saying some of it, and trust that the rest will come later when it needs to.  For now, just tell us one thing, one thing that matters.  And tell us why.”

 And I knew that Peter was right.  More than that, I knew, for those of us who were his students, that that’s what mattered.  Peter never expected or wanted us to get it all; what he wanted for us, what he expected of us, was for us to keep asking, and for us to tell him—and, more importantly, to tell one another—why it mattered, whatever it was. 

 And if it mattered to us, it mattered to Peter.  Peter invested himself in us, and he was the best cheerleader in the world.  During that semester in 510, and again and again after that, I managed to earn and sustain a certain reputation in Peter’s eyes as an iconoclast, a rebel—something he knew a thing or two about.  I was always willing to challenge the canon—and I’m sure, often sophomorically so, but never without spirit and enthusiasm and conviction.  And I was able to do that, so fearlessly, because Peter modeled for me, for all of us, how to do that.  Peter dug himself in, and he encouraged us to do that.  That is, Peter gave us courage—our own, and his—to question, to challenge, and to trust ourselves…and to trust that the rest would follow when it needs to. 

 I am greatly honored to call Peter my teacher, my mentor, and my friend.  I miss him tremendously.